


Building Bridges

by Westgate (Harkpad)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Happy Ending, M/M, Slow Burn, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-01 16:51:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20261371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harkpad/pseuds/Westgate
Summary: Clint disappears for three weeks and the team finds him in a HYDRA lab with sixteen years of his memory gone. Bucky's got a bit of experience in the whole memory-loss thing thanks to HYDRA, so he steps in to help.He didn't expect to find new feelings, but helping Clint Barton brings those out in him, apparently.





	1. Aftermath

“Wait.”

Bucky’s voice is sharp enough to stop Natasha and Steve in their tracks. They look at him with matching frowns before they turn to stare again at Clint, and Bucky knows that in that moment they’re all seeing different things. Nat sees her best friend who’d been missing for three weeks pressing himself into a corner, clearly trying to defend himself. Steve sees his teammate and favorite euchre partner pale, sweating, and naked except for a pair of white boxers, bruises and needle tracks running up both of his arms, combining with stark weight loss to make him look like a junkie.

Bucky is the only one who sees the right thing.

He sees Clint’s eyes. They’re not vacant, like he’s dazed or out of it from whatever shit HYDRA has been doing with him for three weeks. There’s no relief at seeing his teammates and closest friend, either. There’s only guarded, cold assessment tinged with something Bucky has never seen in Clint before: fear.

His blood runs cold.

This is HYDRA who had Clint. They don’t just hold someone for weeks and punch them from time to time. HYDRA has a purpose with every single person they bring into their cells. Hell, they have plans for every single person they come in contact with. They don’t go through the trouble of capturing an Avenger without a plan bigger than leaving bruising.

Clint’s eyes tell Bucky at least one thing they’d done: they’d fucked with his mind.

Bucky swallows the bile that rises at this realization, shoves his weapon behind him, and holds his hands up. “We’re here to help, okay?”

Clint’s eyes dart from person to person and past them to the door. He stays in a crouch and is wound as tight as one of his bowstrings. He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t move.

“Clint,” Natasha says, and takes a step closer.

Bucky watches her from the corner of his eye and sees the moment she realizes what he’d realized right away.

She steps back again and drops her hands, relaxes her body like she never would in a HYDRA base otherwise. “We’re not going to hurt you. We’re going to get you to a safe place.”

Steve still hasn’t caught on, but he trusts Natasha and Bucky’s lead. “We want to make sure you’re not hurt. Tony’s gathering the data from the HYDRA system now.”

It’s when Steve says Tony’s name and Clint still looks cautious and calculating that he seems to catch on to what Bucky and Nat have already seen. “Do you know who we are?” Steve asks, and Bucky hears the same fear that had threaded that voice in a HYDRA base in 1942.

Clint doesn’t answer, so Bucky decides to cut to the chase. “What year is it?”

Clint blinks and narrows his eyes. “Why?”

Bucky almost laughs. It’s what he would have said, too, if a handful of strangers had burst in on him holding weapons.

Thankfully, Natasha has never thought about trust the same way. “You’re Clint Barton, born in Iowa, raised in Carson’s Carnival of Traveling Wonders, and your brother Barney is an idiot who used to sing Village People songs at the top of his lungs. It’s why you hate 70s music. Trust us enough to get you the hell out of here, okay? And then we’ll deal with what’s in front of us.”

Her tone is as kind as Bucky has ever heard it, and he watches as confusion plays over Clint’s face. It doesn’t do anything to change his cautious stance, though, and Bucky wonders if they’re going to have to sedate him to get him out of here. Finally, though, Clint straightens up and nods. “I need out of here, but you assholes _better_watch it if you fuck with me,” he says, and the sharp, sour tone makes Steve and Nat back up a step.

“Practicality wins,” Bucky mutters, but he also nods and beckons Clint to follow. “Are you injured?” He asks, and Clint shakes his head.

They make their way out of the cell and down the dimly-lit hall, but when they try to pass the lab, Clint draws a sharp breath and stops dead in his tracks. He goes even paler than anyone should be able to get, stares at the lab and blinks hard before backing up, right into Bucky. He jumps, turns, and tries to push past Bucky, mumbling “No, no, no, no.”

“Barton,” Bucky says sharply. “No lab. No lab, okay?” He pours all of his assurance into his voice, and he steps back and into Clint’s path to stop him from bolting outright. “We’re going past the lab to our plane. We just have to pass it. No one’s going in. You’re not going in.” Thoughts of Steve trying to get him to go to medical for a checkup after he’d surrendered to Steve’s care after the whole DC debacle flash through his head. They’d had to conduct the checkup in the lounge two floors up from medical after Bucky almost broke Steve’s arm to keep out of there.

Clint looks past Bucky to where Natasha and Steve have already passed the lab and have turned, waiting. Natasha shakes her head and repeats, “No labs.”

Bucky watches Clint take a deep breath, pull himself together with a roll of his shoulders, and duck his head before barreling past the lab to where Natasha and Steve are standing. “That place is shit,” he says, and they all head out to where the jet is waiting. He’s definitely not wrong, Bucky thinks with a rueful smile as he follows.

He watches Clint as he carefully situates himself on the jet, heading straight for the seat with the best sight lines, and holding himself stiff as he buckles himself in. His eyes dart around the jet and he’s silent the whole ride back to the tower. Bucky gets fidgety himself, his metal plates whirring as Clint sits and just watches everything. Bucky and Clint aren’t close, but they’re friendly, and Clint is a chatterbox two thirds of the time. He tells dirty jokes when they’re gearing up for a fight, adds sarcasm to every briefing, much to Hill’s annoyance, and is easy to talk to when they’re at the range or hanging out. He and Bucky have never swapped life stories or anything, but Clint is easy in a way that makes Bucky’s nerves settle when he sees him around.

Now, though, he’s silent on the jet, he’s silent as they trek through the tower to the small guest room they’d decided to use for a medical exam, and he stands still and silent with his arms loose by his side in the middle of the room when they arrive.

Tony and Bruce are there in civilian clothes, and Dr. Cho is there as well, without her usual lab coat, thank god. It’s Tony who speaks first. “Hi,” he says. “I have a really cool computer that can tell us if you’re hurt without us touching you. The computer talks. Is it okay if I ask it to scan you?”

Bucky isn’t sure where the arrogant asshole he bickers with endlessly is at the moment, but he’s grateful for this particular Tony now.

Clint looks around for a moment, blows out a breath, and nods.

“Okay. Jarvis, scan Barton and make sure he’s not broken a wrist or something and isn’t telling us.”

After a moment where Clint holds perfectly still as lights brush down his body, JARVIS announces, “It appears that Agent Barton is not suffering any broken bones or external wounds other than bruising.”

Clint’s face is like a stone, even when Jarvis calls him Agent Barton, and it doesn’t change at the news. He just stands there, scowling and blinking.

“We need blood tests. They were drugging you, and something weird is going on,” Tony says to Clint.

“Weird,” Clint says, “Yeah.”

Bucky can hear the exhaustion in his voice. He’s been through hell the last three weeks, and if he really doesn’t recognize any of them, well, then Bucky has an idea of what that particular hell feels like. That hell was Steve, standing in front of him in his mask saying, “You know who I am, Bucky,” while cold wind blew across the helicarrier. He can practically smell the burning airship as he stands here looking at Clint.

He sucks in a deep breath. “Okay, Barton. We can draw blood here as well as in a lab, so give Helen ten minutes to get the stuff, and if you want a shower in the meantime, it’s through that door.”

“The door locks,” Natasha adds quietly, and Clint’s eyes cut to her and then abruptly back to the floor.

Wordlessly, he disappears through the door and shuts it carefully behind him.

Everyone looks at each other and Bruce mutters, “I hate HYDRA.”

“If he doesn’t remember me then he’s lost at least fourteen years,” Natasha says, all matter-of-fact, and her face is doing that scary neutral thing that tells Bucky that she’s barely holding herself together.

Bucky closes his eyes. Fourteen years.

“Buck?” Steve says.

“Hits a little close,” he replies.

“Once we get his labs going you guys can try and get him to talk,” Tony says. “He’s way too quiet for Barton.”

Bucky looks around at everyone and thinks back to his first few weeks at the tower and straightens himself with a deep breath. “Let me do this. I know how to draw blood. Give me the vials and I’ll do it. There are too many people here, and too many of you are looking for someone not here at the moment.”

“And you’re not?” Tony says, a hint of disappointment in his voice.

“Not like you.”

The room is silent. Bucky knows they want to argue. Well, Steve wants to argue.

“But he needs,” Steve starts.

Bucky interrupts him. “He needs us to not overwhelm him. He needs us to try and figure this out. He needs to stay calm until the science crew figures this out. We need him not to run.”

Natasha cocks her head. “You don’t expect anything from him.”

Bucky nods and watches Steve deflate.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay, but try to figure out what he went through, and don’t think I’m not ordering his favorite takeout and bringing it up in an hour, because I am.”

Bucky smiles at the jut of Steve’s chin and nods. “Deal.”

Natasha watches warily as Steve pulls Tony and Bruce from the room, and then she steps close. “I know him better. I should stay.”

Natasha and Clint have a relationship that Bucky described as ‘symbiotic’ three days after he met Clint. Steve says they’re like siblings, but Bucky knows it’s insufficient, like describing Steve as his brother is insufficient. They aren’t lovers, but you can’t have one of them without the other.

She isn’t wrong, but Bucky counters, “Nobody knows him right now, and he doesn’t know anyone. And what I do know that you don’t is what it’s like to lose your memory thanks to a bunch of assholes, and then have to be around someone who insists they know you better than anyone.”

She swallows and looks away for a moment before nodding.

“Nat,” Bucky says, pulling her chin toward him because they have their own history that allows him into her space like that. “I’ll be careful with him. Let me ease him into the situation. Then you can show him the way out. Okay?”

She gives him a weak smile. “Okay,” she says, and then she heads for the elevator and probably down to Steve’s quarters to commiserate.

Bucky has to knock on the bathroom door fifteen minutes later. “Barton?” he calls. “You okay in there?” He hopes they hadn’t misread the situation and Clint’s dead in the “Super-Rainforest Sprinkle” shower that Tony insisted on putting in all the bathrooms. He personally thinks it’s a little slice of heaven every time he takes a shower, but hopefully that’s all that’s wrong with Clint.

He counts to ten. “Barton?” he calls again.

A muffled, “Be out in a minute,” comes through the door and Bucky sags a little in relief.

A few minutes later Clint appears in a pair of worn jeans and a purple t-shirt that Tony had obviously snagged from his room before they got there. Bucky takes a second to appreciate the view, and then asks, “The shower’s pretty great, huh?”

Clint nods. “Sorry for taking so long. It’s, uh, been awhile.”

Bucky thinks back to those weeks after the fight with Steve in DC and the sleeping on the streets and managing a seedy hotel once a week or so, desperate to stay off any type of radar. He knows what it’s like, but he wonders if the ‘while’ is Clint’s time with HYDRA or in whatever time he’s stuck in. “My name’s Bucky and I’m gonna draw a few vials of blood. Helen’s really good. She’ll figure out what they did to you.” He can’t help looking at the mess of marks on Clint’s arm.

Clint grits his teeth and nods as he sits down on the chair closest to the equipment Bucky has laid out.

As Bucky wraps the band around Clint’s arm to raise the vein he needs, he says, as simply as he can, “I was HYDRA’s prisoner for seventy years and they messed with my head but good. Steve and Nat rescued me and got me back to myself. I know a little about screwy situations.”

Clint goes completely still, and he looks at Bucky with mission intensity. As Bucky slides the needle into Clint’s arm and starts the draw, he sees a shudder cross Clint’s skin.

“I’m better now,” Bucky says with a grin.

Clint watches as Bucky switches the vials and blood fills five of them. As Bucky finally pulls the needle from his arm and swipes a band aid over it, Clint says, “You all know me but I don’t know you,” his gaze never leaving Bucky’s eyes. “I don’t understand.”

Bucky sighs. “Yeah. They did something to your memory. What do you remember about before they had you?”

Clint swallows and looks at the floor. “I was in – I don’t know how they got me. I was in New Orleans and then suddenly I woke up in their cell. I was working a . . . job there,” he says, and shrugs. “I don’t know how I got to the lab. It was like a dream when the dream changes, you know? It’s like you’re on the high wire in front of a crowd and suddenly you’re in your bathroom.”

Bucky nods. The chair. They strapped him in, flooded him with pain, and the dream – nightmare – changed. Clothes were different, cars were different, he was the same. He knows about not knowing how you got somewhere. “You remember everything leading up to that, though? How you got to New Orleans?”

“Yeah.”

There’s silence, and it draws out for a minute before Bucky nods and stands up. “Okay. I’ll give these to Helen and then we can get you to your rooms if you want to rest. We’ll let the science-types have some time to try and figure out what happened.”

Clint doesn’t answer, just stands.

Quiet Barton is definitely weird.

<><><><><> 

At least it isn’t a cell anymore, Clint thinks as he stands in the middle of the room where Bucky has deposited him. That was after Clint had to place his palm on a scanner and the computer in the ceiling had said, “If you’re not sure of the code to open the door, I can open it with your voice permission, sir.”

Clint had looked at Bucky and then at the ceiling. “Uh, sure. You . . . have my permission,” he stumbled. What the hell do you say to give an invisible computer permission to open a door? The door had opened with a click, though.

“You and Jarvis are the only ones with the codes to this place, and Jarvis is programmed to only open it in an emergency, okay? You don’t want us in here, you don’t let us in,” Bucky said, in that careful, reassuring tone he had.

“What kind of emergency?” Clint asked. Anyone can call anything an emergency.

“Medical emergency, only, sir,” the ceiling voice said, and there was something calming about ceiling-voice.

“Listen,” Bucky said, “There are weapons in there. We don’t really want you hurting anyone here or hurting yourself. But I’m not gonna ask for them. Keep ‘em. You’re still you, and the guy I know wouldn’t willingly hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it.”

Clint knew it was a show of trust, but it caught him off guard. “You sure you don’t deserve it?” slipped out before he could filter it.

Bucky smiled, and it was a smile that took Clint’s breath away. “Oh, I’m sure someone thinks I do, but hopefully you’ll cut me some slack.”

Clint held his gaze for a moment, and he swore he saw a guy he could trust in those eyes, but Barney always said he trusted too goddamned easy, so he didn’t respond except to walk into the apartment.

“Steve’s ordering dinner. I’ll come get you when it’s here,” Bucky said, and Clint swallowed and looked away. Dinner with a bunch of people he doesn’t know sounded like a ring of fire to him. Then again, these people were bending over backwards to help him, so maybe he should give them a chance. Barney’s voice echoed again, though, still holding him despite his abandonment.

“I’m not hungry,” he tried, but he had seen himself in the bathroom mirror; they weren’t gonna believe that.

He watched as Bucky bit his bottom lip and then nodded. “Okay. Can I check in on you in an hour or two?”

A kind of panic over this attention started to rise in Clint’s throat, and his face fell into what everyone in the circus called his ‘murder face’ even though he didn’t do it on purpose. “If there’s news from those doctors. Otherwise, leave me the fuck alone.”

Bucky just pursed his lips and said, “Okay. Tell Jarvis if you need anything, and if you start feeling weird, have him call me. Who knows what those idiots were shooting you up with in that lab.” Then he left, pulling the door shut behind him, and Clint was left alone.

He’s in a living room with a forest green couch, a huge TV and an old, oak bookshelf that has books spilling off the shelves. There’s a tattered beige rug on the floor and a lamp that looks like an old tiffany lamp next to a navy wingback chair. Nothing matches. There’s a coffee table that is probably cherry wood if Clint is remembering correctly the barker at Carson’s who used to point out trees and shit to Clint when he was stuck riding in his truck between towns. He turns around and there’s a kitchen with a few dishes piled in the sink and a half-full coffee pot on the counter. It kind of smells.

He takes a deep breath and wanders to the first bedroom, set up with a twin bed and a classy grey color scheme, but it looks unused. The bathroom is like the one he’d been in earlier, which meant heavenly. It’s huge and has the same kind of giant shower he’d used earlier. The towels are purple here, though, which makes him smile.

The back bedroom is clearly his. There’s a framed watercolor of an archer above the plain headboard, and the bedspread is a swirl of different shades of purple, although the bed is unmade. There’s a pair of jeans and socks thrown on the floor next to the bed, like the last time he used it he couldn’t be bothered to get changed anywhere else. The bathroom is identical to the guest bathroom, only it seems even bigger if possible. This one has a standalone tub in addition to the shower. A toothbrush, razor, and comb are all scattered across the counter top of the double sink. He washes his face again, just because he needs to do something, and he knows it will feel good. The towels are plush, and he buries his face in one longer than strictly necessary.

There’s a waist-high bookcase in the bedroom – jesus, he’s read about five books in his whole life as far as he knows, so something must’ve changed there – and the top of doesn’t have books on it. There are pictures.

He sees a frame that has two photos, one with the redhead he’d seen earlier and him, and one with him and a guy in black suit and the bluest eyes he’s ever seen, except maybe Bucky’s a few minutes ago. Another frame has a jet, the kind they’d ridden in on the way here today. Another frame holds a collage of photos, and all the other people he’d seen today are in those.

If they’re trying to fool Clint, they’re going through a lot of trouble. Plus, there’s no mistaking that it is him in the photos with everyone, and when he looks in the mirror his face isn’t just gaunt, it’s older. There’s a scar on his cheek that he doesn’t remember getting.

He sits down on the edge of the bed and puts his head in his hands. What the hell happened to him? That lab, that fucking chair, the injections, was it all an effort to get him to forget who he was? Why would they need him to forget that?

Overcome with a wave of exhaustion, he lays back on the bed and sleep claims him before he can wonder anything else at all. It doesn’t last, though, and he’s awake an hour later with sweat on his forehead and his breath too fast.

<><><><><><><><> 

“Food’s here, Buck,” Steve calls from the elevator. “Go get Clint.”

Steve must’ve ordered the whole menu with the number of bags he has hanging from his arms. Bucky stands and crosses his arms, ready for a fight. “He’s resting and didn’t want me to get him. Said he’s not hungry.”

Steve stops. “What? He needs to eat.”

“He’s lost weight,” Natasha says. She follows Steve off the elevator carrying a few bags herself.

“He doesn’t want to be disturbed unless we have news from Bruce and Tony about what happened.”

“He needs to eat,” Steve repeats, and he sets his bags on the counter.

“He said he’s not hungry.”

He watches as Steve figures out that this is going to be a fight Bucky’s willing to have.

“What the hell, Bucky?”

Bucky blinks away memories of Steve losing his shit after Bucky had been dragged to the tower after DC but wouldn’t eat to his satisfaction. “They’ve fucked with him for three weeks and he’s lost years from his life, Steve. I’m not making him do anything unless he absolutely has to. He needs rest, too. Let him sleep and we’ll eat after.”

Natasha drops her bags of food. “Thai food reheats pretty well,” she says to Steve. “Bucky’s the most recent expert here.”

And wasn’t that just the truth? Hydra and the Red Skull had fucked with Steve. The Red Room fucked with Natasha. The gamma ray accident and General Ross had fucked with Bruce. Odin and Loki had fucked with Thor. Ten Rings had fucked with Tony. They were all experts on trauma, but Bucky was the most recent.

Steve deflates. “Okay,” he says, and works to put the food in the fridge, keeping one bag back for himself.

So now Bucky’s the expert and it’s three hours before Jarvis announces, “Agent Barton is asking about you. He gave me permission to ask you to come to him.”

Bucky leans into Natasha as they sit pressed against each other on the couch, “I’ll try and bring him down here.”

“Don’t push,” she answers, not even looking up from her book.

Bucky presses a kiss to her head as he stands up to leave.

He’s leaning against the door frame of Clint’s apartment a minute later, and he’s trying to be casual and laid back, but it’s tough to see Clint’s wary face again. He doesn’t look like he’s slept, and his eyes seem to be even more shadowed than before. “Are you hungry?” he asks.

Clint squirms a little on the couch and runs his hands through his hair; it sticks up even more. “I guess? There hasn’t been any news?”

“No. Well. I wasn’t sure if you were sleeping, so I told Tony to let me know first if they had anything, and I haven’t heard from him. I told him I was coming here, though, so maybe we can check again after you eat something.”

Clint swallows and then stands. He’s added a pair of battered Converse to his outfit, and he looks around the room like he should be getting something else before he shrugs and just passes Bucky in the doorway to leave. He’s silent as they make their way to the common kitchen, and he doesn’t even look at Natasha sitting on the couch as they pass. He stands awkwardly at the edge of the kitchen.

“We have leftover Thai food, or we can make some omelets or waffles or something. Whatever you’re up for,” Bucky says.

“Whatever’s easy, I guess.”

“How’s your stomach?” Bucky asks. “HYDRA’s not known for feeding folks they keep.”

Clint’s eyes go vacant for a second, and he sets his jaw. “No. Not really. Maybe eggs would be better.”

“Thai for lunch later,” Bucky, and sets to pulling ingredients out of the fridge. “Natasha, you want an omelet?” he calls, and ignores the small flinch of Clint’s shoulders.

“If you’re buying, Barnes, thanks. You know what I like.”

He knows what everyone likes, really. While he was recovering and before he got clearance to go on missions, he made breakfast and other meals whenever he could – to feel like he was earning his keep, and to keep busy. He knows that Clint prefers basic ham and cheese with the occasional onion or green pepper, but he isn’t going to presume anything today.

He looks at Clint. “What do you like?” he asks, pointing at the pile of food on the counter.

Clint shoves his hands in his jeans pocket. “Just cheese, I guess.”

Bucky busies himself making food and leaves Clint to stand at the counter watching. His eyes never stop moving, but he stays still until Natasha wanders over, and then he moves to put space between them.

“Wanna see the balcony?” Natasha offers, “Bucky’ll call us.”

Clint manages to tense up even more. “No, thanks. I’m okay.”

To Nat’s credit, she doesn’t react, just nods.

Bucky figures if the tension in the room were any thicker they wouldn’t be able to breathe. He wills the skillet to cook the eggs faster. “You like baseball, Barton?” he says over his shoulder.

Clint looks at Natasha and then back at Bucky. “Don’t you already know that?” he says, low and sharp.

Bucky turns to plate the food and can’t help his glare. “Wouldn’t ask if I knew. There’s a game recorded that I haven’t had a chance to watch, so if you like it, we can put it on while we eat.”

Clint never answers Bucky’s question, but he pulls his plate to his chest and moves to the couch, so they turn the game on anyway. It’s something to look at.

An hour or so later, Tony calls. “Come down to the lab,” and Bucky winces at the word choice.

Clint stiffens and Natasha shakes her head. “Tony’s lab isn’t like other labs. We’re not going to do anything to you and it won’t look like the shithole place we pulled you from, guarantee it.”

But Clint’s breathing speeds up and his pallor grows.

“Tony, can you all bring whatever you need up here? We’re pretty comfy up here already and I don’t wanna move from this couch for at least five more hours,” Bucky says.

“Right, right, right. Sorry. Yeah. Give us ten minutes and we’ll be there,” Tony says, and before the audio cuts out they can hear Tony say to Bruce and Helen, “I wasn’t thinking, shut up!”

Clint puts his head in his hands for a second and then stands up. He moves to the floor-to-ceiling window next to the bar in the back of the room, crosses his arms tightly across his chest, and doesn’t move until the elevator swooshes open ten minutes later.

The verdict from the team lab is that it’s a drug plus chair-style ‘therapy’ that they used on Clint to take away his memories.

“Clint,” Bruce says gently when they’re done explaining. “Can you tell us what year you think it is?”

Bucky can see Clint struggling to decide what to share with this bunch of strangers, and after he pulls in a deep, shaky breath he says, “1997,” and then he looks at the ground. “Jarvis told me it’s really 2013.”

Natasha stands and moves to stare out the window. Steve blows out a heavy sigh, and Helen steps forward.

“We think the drug part of this may wear off, though we don’t know how long it will take. Whether that restores all of your memory we can’t tell, but it should help. If they’re modeling what they did to you on what they did to Bucky, then we can expect you to get your memory back eventually.”

“They’ve had time to tweak it since they fucked with me,” Bucky says. He doesn’t want to be a downer, but realism wins in his book every time.

Clint glances at him and then back to look at Natasha. “I might not get anything back.”

“It’s hard to know. We’re going to spend more time on their notes we stole and the drugs they were using. We may be able to figure something out, Clint,” Helen says, and Bucky’s grateful for her hopefulness even if he can’t provide it.

Silence hangs over the room for a minute, and then Steve steps close to Bucky. “Let off some steam in the gym?” he says softly, and Bucky nods.

“Barton, we can show you around a bit and maybe manage to finish that Thai food after, if you want,” Steve says.

Clint looks around the room and kicks the carpet before looking back at Steve. “If it’s okay, I’ll just go back to my rooms.”

After a beat, Bucky answers, “Yeah. It’s okay. You know the way?”

Clint nods and leaves quietly.

“Well, fuck,” Tony mutters, and no one answers.


	2. Floodgates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve comes up with an idea.

He still can’t sleep. He tries, and the bed is comfortable as fuck, but he tosses and turns and gets into a light doze before startling awake again with another shout on his lips. He tries the couch, but that doesn’t help. With a sigh, he says, “Um. Jarvis?”

“Yes, Agent Barton?”

He blinks at that. He doesn’t know what that title means, but it’s not worth worrying about, he figures. “Can you call me Clint?”

“Certainly, sir,” Jarvis answers, and Clint can’t help his smile.

“Uh, is there any way I can get another baseball game to watch?”

“Certainly, sir. You can also tell me what of any sport or film or show that you’d like to watch, and I can find it for you.”

Clint blinks. He hasn’t ever had a television of his own, much less access to anything he wants. “Baseball’s fine,” he says and closes his eyes. Too much. This is all just too fucking much. He’s suddenly living in a palace, no one’s trying to kill him, no one expects him to kill anyone, and he has food. He bends over. “Why the fuck can’t I sleep,” he mutters into his knee.

“I can ask if someone can bring you a sleep-aid, Clint,” Jarvis says, and Clint sits back up.

“No way. If baseball doesn’t put me to sleep, then I’m just fucked. I’m not taking a drug.”

Baseball doesn’t put him to sleep. He keeps jerking awake, pulse pounding, head aching, so finally he just sits up and looks around. He paces. He looks at those photos again, this time picking up the one with Natasha and him. They look happy, that’s for sure. Weird. Clint hasn’t been happy in a very long time.

He pours himself some juice from his small refrigerator and manages to drink two-thirds of it before it sours in his mouth. Dr. Cho said his appetite might be fucked for a while. Helen Cho certainly isn’t like any doctors Clint’s ever seen – although to be fair he has only seen two or three in his life. Thinking back to what she told him, that he’s lost sixteen years of his life and may only get snippets of it back if he gets any of it back at all. Sixteen years is a long fucking time.

He wonders what happened to the other guy in the photo with Natasha. He hasn’t been around today, but they seem close in the picture. Maybe he’s on a mission or something with that group they suspected Clint of in the first place. Doesn’t matter. It’s not like Clint would recognize him or anything.

He flops down on the couch again, and now he’s getting jumpy. The room is empty. He prowls the other bedrooms and does the kind of check sweep he’d do if he were on the run like he so often was. The faint lavender scent that future him must love feels like a blanket threatening to suffocate him. The sounds of the baseball game don’t carry to the bedrooms or bathroom, and the silence of those places is deafening.

He throws himself down on his bed. An hour later and he’s still awake. “Fuck!” he yells at the indifferent room. He takes another shower and stays in it until his skin is pink and wrinkled. When he lets himself crash on the bed again, he figures the expanse of the bed will make it easy to sleep – didn’t rich people sleep like babies?

Apparently carnie-trash-cum-rich people don’t.

He swallows a couple of aspirin an hour later and goes back to the couch and a new game.

Two hours later his skin is threatening to peel away from his face.

“Jarvis?”

“Yes?”

Clint sighs. “Am I allowed out of my rooms?”

Jarvis pauses, and then says, “Protocols have not been changed since before the mission, so yes. You have the same access you always have.”

“I don’t know where to go.”

“Natasha is in the common room, Steve is in his quarters, Sir and Bruce are in the lab with Doctor Cho, and Sergeant Barnes is in the gym.”

“Sergeant Barnes?”

“Bucky, I suppose,” Jarvis answered, and if a computer could sound mildly irritated, this one did.

There was something in his tone that Clint was missing, but finding Bucky again seemed like a reasonable plan. Also, a gym. That might help him sleep. He pulls on his tennis shoes and follows Jarvis’ instructions to the gym.

He can’t remember ever actually being in a gym, but he’s seen them in movies, and this one isn’t anything like that. It’s warmer than he expected, but not sweltering. It’s lit by natural light right now, and it also doesn’t stink the way he always figured gyms must. There are a few treadmills along the back wall, a boxing ring in the middle, and an area with weight machines in the far corner. Toward the front are punching bags hanging from chains.

Bucky is beating the ever-loving shit out of one of them.

Clint watches for a few minutes, admiring the metal arm and the muscles rippling under his t-shirt and decides that he’d better never piss this guy off. He asks, “What the hell did that bag do to you?” He’s going for flippant, but his utter exhaustion betrays him, and it comes out tired and flat.

Bucky looks up and backs away from the bag, unwraps his flesh hand and wipes his head with a towel. He’s standing with his hands loose, and his grin is sharp. “Looked at me funny,” he replies. “What the hell did your bed do to you?”

Clint can’t help his own weary grin. “Doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“Have you slept at _all_?” Bucky’s frown steals back across his face.

Clint looks around the room with a shrug. “No.”

“Go up to the common room. Natasha is there and she makes the best tea you’ve ever had. I’ll be up in a minute after I rinse off, okay?”

Clint doesn’t really want to, but listening to Bucky seems like something he can do, so he goes. He steps off the elevator and Natasha looks up at him from where she’s curled up on the couch.

“Bucky’s coming,” he says and shifts his weight on his feet.

She holds onto her book and nods. “Okay.”

The silence isn’t easy, Clint thinks. She isn’t loose the way she was as they were moving through the HYDRA base, and she’s watching him and clearly waiting. For what, Clint has no idea. “He said you make good tea.”

She smiles and stands. “I do. Jasmine?” she asks over her shoulder as she heads to the kitchen.

“What?”

She stops and turns and something darkens in her eyes before she blinks it away. “Jasmine tea. Would you like some?”

He shrugs. “I’ve never had tea. Just coffee.” After an awkward pause he sighs. “Well, I take it I’ve had tea, but I don’t remember. And I don’t know what I like. Jasmine, from the sound of it.” He tries to smile. This isn’t her fault.

She nods. “We’ll try it.”

She goes to the kitchen area, but he doesn’t follow. He stands watching from a distance, and his legs tremble with exhaustion.

She puts the tea into the infuser and waits for the water to boil, leans against the counter and crosses her arms. “You look like shit, Barton. Have you slept?”

He bites his lip and just shakes his head.

She nods and they just stand there, like she’s not used to having to make conversation with him and isn’t about to start now, until the whistle on the kettle blows and she turns back to the stove to prepare his tea.

He waits, and the elevator door opens nearby. He turns as Bucky steps off the elevator and wow, his black hair is dripping a little and Clint watches a drop slide his neck onto the pale blue towel around his shoulders, and wonders what it would feel like to rub the towel over Bucky’s head and rest his hands on those broad shoulders. He blinks the thought away and follows as Bucky heads to the kitchen. Clint settles on one of the stools and ignores the way Natasha looks between him and Bucky before turning back to the tea.

She slides a cup across the counter and sets a small jar of honey and a spoon down next to it. “You might need it sweetened a bit.”

If he likes his tea the way he likes his coffee, he’s gonna need half the jar, but he tries it without anything first. It’s gross. He adds two teaspoons of honey and it’s much better, a soothing flowery smell chased by a warm sweetness. He feels his shoulders relax. He lets the conversation between Bucky and Natasha wash over him as he drinks the tea and suddenly the cup is empty and he’s leaning on his hand against the counter. He blinks heavily and forces himself to sit up straight and roll his shoulders.

“Want some more tea?” Natasha asks.

He blinks and looks over at Bucky, who’s finishing his own cup.

“How ‘bout we have another cup?” Bucky says, and something in his face looks soft to Clint, like someone smudged the normally hard lines of his cheekbones with their finger. “Let’s sit on the couch while Nat works her magic.”

They move and Clint sinks into the couch with a groan.

“Okay there, Barton?”

He struggles to keep his eyes open. “Yeah. Yeah. I’m okay.” He’s not. He’s lost about sixteen years of his life and every time he closes his eyes he sees a black chair and feels electricity coursing through his veins and he’s scared as hell.

But he can’t stop his eyes from closing.

<><><><><><><>

As he watches Clint jerk awake for the third time on the counter, Bucky wants to throw him over his shoulder and into bed. He knows Clint’s exhausted, so when he agrees to go to the couch Bucky’s just crossing his fingers that the most expensive, most cushiony couch in the universe might pull him into some actual sleep. When his eyes shut and his breathing evens out, Bucky breathes his own sigh of relief.

“Impressive, Barnes,” Natasha says, setting a cup of steaming tea in front of him.

“Just following a hunch.” He looks over at Clint, the way his head is tilted, the way his eyelashes lie on his cheek, the way his hair falls unusually over his forehead because he hasn’t spiked it up the way he normally does. He’s always liked looking at Clint, always wondered what he’d feel like, what he’d taste like, but he always tucks those things away. Now he can’t help it when it’s combined with the waves of worry and pity washing over him every time he looks at the guy.

That fucking chair steals more than memories, and Bucky has emotions that he’d been tucking away in boxes in his heart that are tearing their way out right now, unexpectedly.

He and Natasha drink their tea in silence, and the sound of Clint’s breathing seems louder than it probably is. He looks over at Nat and she’s closed her eyes, too, and Bucky is reminded again of what she’s lost in this whole mess. After he finishes his tea, he leans over and brushes his hand down her cheek. She opens her eyes. “Hey,” he says. “I’m gonna go shower and check in with Helen and the nerds.”

Natasha just nods and pats his leg, her eyes still shut. He leaves as quietly as he can.

“I can’t figure out the chair. I get the drugs, and I think we can maybe start Clint on a path to cleanse the garbage out of his system, but the chair. It’s weird.” Helen is looking at a schematic in the air in front of her and drinking a cup of steaming coffee.

“They used words like ‘cementing’ or ‘redundancy’ as far as I can remember,” Bucky replied. He’d actually taken a couple hours to shower, eat, and read for a bit.

“Yeah, but it relied on electricity,” she answers, oblivious to his flinch at the memory. “And the drugs they were using don’t really respond to that.”

“Where’re Tony and Bruce?” he asks.

“They had an idea about the power levels of the chair. They’re in Bruce’s lab.”

None of this was going to help Clint right now. “Physically can he get back to normal?”

“Yes, although he should take it easy. Malnourishment demands rest. No marathons or anything yet.”

Malnourishment.

Bucky is ambushed. Steve sitting on a ratty little couch looking small and washed out, shoulders sticking through his t-shirt all angles and edges. Bucky setting a pot on the stove as Sarah Rogers ruffles his hair and says, “Thank your ma if I don’t see her soon, Bucky. She didn’t have to, but I sure appreciate it.” Steve scowling on the couch and his mother glaring a challenge his way, ‘go ahead and turn down a gift,’ she seemed to say. ‘See what happens then.’ Sarah Rogers, all five foot four of her, fiery Irish eyes and hard smiles.

“Bucky?” Helen asks, “Are you okay?”

He blinks and shrugs. “That chair took a lot from me is all. Wish it hadn’t taken something from him, too.”

“You’re getting it back, though,” Helen replies, and Bucky has to swallow a chunk of anger that rises at her words.

“Some of it,” he answers, and isn’t it weird that Steve appears in the lab’s doorway as if summoned.

“Hey Buck,” Steve calls, “Is Dr. Cho explaining our idea?”

Bucky looks back at Helen and raises an eyebrow. “Idea?”

She shrugs. “I hadn’t gotten to it yet.”

“We were thinking of pulling together some files and maybe a trip out to Coulson’s bus – they’re on assignment and can’t get back anytime soon but Phil said he’d have time to talk to Clint if we could meet them.”

Bucky’s breathing picks up and something must happen on his face because even Helen takes a step backwards.

“Bucky?” Steve asks, and then seems to realize his mistake. “Look, it’s not the same. It happened a lot faster to him, so the guys seem to think maybe a more aggressive set of reminders will help him. I thought maybe since Phil was the first one to find him years ago that he’d be able to reach him now, you know? Bring him back to himself?”

Bucky’s hand goes to the knife he keeps at his belt and he grips the handle.

Steve catalogues his every move. “Bucky.”

“More aggressive reminders? Back to himself?” Bucky growls. “Fuck you, Rogers. Fuck all of you.” He turns on his heel and storms out of the lab, passes the elevator and slams the door to the stairwell so hard that it sticks to the wall instead of swinging shut again as he leaps up the stairs by threes.

He climbs until it burns and slows to two steps at a time, and by the time he shoves the door to the roof open his breathing has finally slowed a little and the sunlight shocks him to a stop. He’d assumed that the darkness of the stairwell was just how the day was now. The sun, though, reflects off the metal railing of the roof and shines on the dusty gravel covering the ground beneath his feet. He looks up and draws a sharp breath of clear air and looks down at the knife he’s still holding in his hand.

He flips it a few times and goes to lean on the railing and looks down at the city below. Steve hasn’t pushed Bucky to be more than he can in a while, but the sting of it still burns. He catches Steve looking at sketches sometimes, sketches of Bucky in his shirt sleeves with hair falling in his face and sitting at a folding table with a hand of cards, a mouthy grin on his face, light in his eyes. He hopes _someday_ he can match that memory again, but now he glances down at his whirring metal arm and doesn’t bother hiding his frustration.

His phone rings. “Sergeant Barnes?” It’s Jarvis. “Natasha needs your help. Now.”

Fuck. Someday isn’t even close to Barton at the moment.

<><><><><><>

Clint was never only hers.

She knows that now, but early on, when he first convinced her to join him at SHIELD, he was hers: her first friend, her first brother, her first family. She struggled with that. First it was simple protectiveness, but eventually Phil had to sit her down in his apartment with a steaming cup of tea and ask her whether she’d been allowed possessions in the Red Room. He’d told her his own story, then, and gave her another friendship to hold onto so that her grip on Clint loosened little by little.

She never released him completely, though, and his brotherhood was cemented when she realized he had a grip on her, too, in his own way. The way his eyes lit up whenever he saw her, even if it had only been a few days, that was a light she held onto very tightly. Now, though, the light is gone. He doesn’t even see her, really, except as someone he might have known. She is unmoored, and his screams don’t help.

He’s asleep on the couch next to her one minute, the next he’s jackknifing off the couch and crowds himself in the space between the media shelf and the wall, and he’s got a knife out. His scream dies out, but his breath is ragged, wet, and frantic.

When she stands to go to him, he brandishes the knife, yells, “Get the fuck away from me!”

“Clint,” she says, as level as she can, “You’re safe.”

“Fuck off,” he _whispers harshly_.

“Do you know where you are?” she asks.

He looks around furtively. “You say I know this place. I know that apartment is supposed to look like mine, but I have no fucking idea. I don’t.”He pushes the words out through gritted teeth.“I don’t remember _any_ of this,”

“I’m not going to hurt you. Put the knife down.”

“Fuck off. I don’t know that.” He sucks in a shaky breath. “Where’s Bucky?”

The words pierce her like one of his arrows. She keeps her eyes on Clint, though, and blinks past the pain. “Jarvis, find Bucky, please. Ask him to come.”

Clint holds the knife steady. He stares at her and she stares back, and then he blinks heavily and shakes his head like he’s clearing cobwebs. When he looks back up at her, there’s wonder in his eyes. “You were running from me,” he says, and she thinks maybe she forgets how to breathe.

She nods.

“It was . . . Paris. But I’ve never…” he trails off and shakes his head again as the elevator door opens and Bucky steps into the room, taking it in at one glance.

He moves and talks to Clint in low tones, but Natasha is left back in Paris, the smell of coffee and exhaust and the smell of mud from the Seine in her nose. She’s pounding down an alley only to turn to shoot, but her gun is knocked from her grip by a motherfucking arrow of all things. There’s another ‘thwang’ and her leather jacket is pinned to the wall behind her. By the time she can slip out of it the guy is on top of her along with the element of surprise. He’s actually laughing as he pins her to the ground and says, “I’ll bet you didn’t see that coming. Also? I have a job offer for you.”

“I’m taking him back to his room. Stay here, okay?” Bucky says, breaking into her memory.

All she can do is watch them leave, but something loosens in her chest when she sees Clint steal a glance back at her. She sinks back down onto the couch and forces herself to think about all of the other friendships she’s built since she met Clint. Of course, it was as if when he extended his hand to her, it let her see all the others standing behind him, waiting to get to know her. “Get the hell out of your room and come play pool with us, Romanoff!” rang in her memory, along with his infectious grin and snorting laughter.

She closes her eyes and hears the elevator open again, too soon to be Bucky again. When the couch sags next to her she doesn’t have to open her eyes to know it’s Steve. His breathing and movements have become almost as known to her as Clint’s after all. She leans against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry this happened, Nat,” he says softly. He runs his hand through her hair, and she leans into the touch.

“Bucky’s good with him,” she says.

Steve is quiet a moment, so she opens her eyes and sees him blink a little too hard.

“Steve?”

“I can’t believe it happened again.”

“HYDRA is a dog with a bone,” she answers.With a sigh, she stands and offers him her hand. “Let’s get ice cream.”

He smiles, and it is at least a passable version of his full smile, and Natasha warms a little more.

“Sundaes,” he says, and pushes past her to the kitchen.

“You’re actually six years old, Rogers.”

“Whatever works, Nat,” he calls over his shoulder as he digs through the freezer for the many cartons of ice cream waiting. “Whatever works.”

“Fine, but I’m adding liquor to mine.”

He gives her a thumbs up and her own smile breaks through, uninvited but very welcome.

<><><><><> 2

Bucky usually trusts Steve’s judgment, and at first he thinks Steve’s getting it right. Over the next few days they all watch more baseball together, Steve convinces Clint to stay around for mealtimes and try some of Bruce’s cooking (turns out he likes curry, even though he swears he’s never had it), and one night he brandishes a deck of cards and says, “You know how to play Euchre yet?”

He and Clint proceed to team up and beat the hell out of Nat and Bucky, but Bucky claims it’s because Bruce is usually Nat’s partner, not Bucky. “See, I told you it was fun, though,” Steve counters.

It’s fun, but Clint is still not sleeping and he stands at the window looking out on the city for more and more time each day.

“You’re keeping him prisoner, Steve,” Bucky says a couple days later around a mouthful of popcorn. They’d doused the popcorn with a cheese sprinkle and Bucky ate it by the handful. “He’s getting crankier.” It was true. Clint had thrown a glass against the kitchen wall earlier in the day when he couldn’t get the ice machine to work. Bucky had gone on eating his cereal but he hated seeing Clint so easily upset.

Steve sighs. “We’re going to take him to see Coulson soon, and I’m not keeping him prisoner. I’m just not sure letting him wander around Manhattan is going to do anything except make him comfortable with running away.”

“Prisoner. First of all, I’m not saying let him roam around by his lonesome. I’ll go with him or Natasha can go if she ever decides to talk to him again.”

“You’re being hard on her.”

“She’s his best friend. I would’ve gone nuts if you’d have hid from me when I got here,” Bucky answers. He’d kind of clung to Steve like a limpet when he came, but it kept him sane.

“She’s upset. He feels comfortable with you but not her.”

Bucky stops his popcorn halfway to his mouth. “Nat’s jealous?” That was about as weird as Barton being quiet or angry all the time. “That’s stupid.”

Steve crosses his arms in the way that told Bucky he’d just started a fight. “Stupid? Really?”

Bucky eats the popcorn. “Yeah. He’ll be back to letting her paint his toenails purple once he gets more comfortable here. He just likes me ‘cause I helped at the beginning. Like he imprinted or something. Once he’s got some brain cells back, he’ll get over it and go back to her. She’s smart enough to know that.” He swallows the words that want to tell Steve how much he’ll miss the way Clint looks at him later. They’re embarrassing.

“Well, she’s not stupid. And he doesn’t need to leave the tower yet. It’s only been a week.”

“You’re babying him. Besides, you know Nat and I could track him if he slips away from us.”

Steve laughs. “You haven’t been around him much, have you? He’s too slippery for Nat sometimes, which means he’s too slippery for you, too.”

Bucky glares. The idea that someone’s as good as Natasha makes him think, though, but it makes him think of how sexy that idea is. That’s not productive. “He needs something. He’s bored and tired and if he doesn’t get some more sleep, we’re gonna have trouble.” 

“I don’t want him out in the city yet. Helen’s also been dosing him with their drug to wipe out HYRA’s drug. Who the hell knows if he’s gonna have a bad reaction to that?” Steve says. He frowns. “Can’t you get him to work out or something? Run the treadmill and swim or something. You should see him swim. It’s kinda funny.”

That stops Bucky short. “Funny how?”

Steve grins. “Well, he didn’t get much chance to swim in a pool as a kid, he said. His form’s a little off.”

“We didn’t learn either, and I’ve only been in the water for missions and pulling your ass out of the river. I hate swimming.” He says that out loud, but the idea of getting Clint into a swimsuit does kind of distract him for a moment. Just for a moment. “He needs something fun. Something he likes. Something familiar.”

They look at each other and realize it at the same time.

“No,” Steve says.

At the same time, Bucky grins and says, “Yes. It’s perfect. He’ll love it. It’s safe.”

Steve glares, that adorable I’m-angry-at-you-but-you’re-my-best-friend look that he gets with Bucky sometimes and it feels a little like going home. “You want to hand him his bow?”

“He’ll love it. It’ll make him happy for a bit, it’ll wear him out, and maybe he’ll sleep for more than two hours. Even Bruce and Tony say he needs to sleep. Helen’s about to knock him out with a sedative.

Steve doesn’t say anything, just gets that frown he got when Dum-Dum used to suggest something harebrained, but Steve couldn’t figure out how to explain it was too crazy to work.

“You know it’ll work, Steve. He’ll wear himself out, have some fun, and hopefully pass out.”

Steve sighs. “Fine.Not by himself, though. I just don’t know where his head is right now. Neither does Nat.”

Bucky sighs and stands up. He sets the popcorn on the counter and says, “She needs to relax, too.” He stops and snaps his fingers. “I have an idea better than his bow, actually.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Better than his bow?”

Bucky shrugs. “Well, in this case, yeah.”

An hour later and he, Natasha, and Clint are standing in a room not far from the gym. Clint’s eyes have dark circles under their dark circles, and Bucky has a moment of doubt. He wants to help, though, and for some reason it’s really all his brain is willing to think about at the moment.

“You said to wear workout clothes. This isn’t the gym, though,” Clint says, and side eyes the wall in front of them. It’s a small room with nothing but a water fountain and a small couch, but then Bucky hits a button and the wall drops into the floor.

“I thought a little competition might be fun,” Bucky says.

Natasha claps her hands together. “A race, Barnes?”

“A race. I figure Clint’s got an advantage because he knows how to parkour with the best of them.” He and Nat do this at least once a week, and Clint and Nat do it, too, but Bucky’s never raced Clint before.

“We race each other?” Clint asks, and there’s an eagerness there that Bucky hasn’t heard since all of this happened. He even smiles – the first one Bucky’s seen since all of this started.

Bucky shrugs. “You and I have never actually faced off. I usually just watch,” he says.

“Because of your arm?” Clint asks, and then says, “Shit, that came out more rude than it should.”

Bucky just grins. “Nah, I didn’t think you could handle my form.” He doesn’t mention how he doesn’t really like to compete with anyone but Nat most of the time.

“We can race or try and beat each other’s’ times,” Natasha says with her own smile.

Clint looks at Bucky with a grin and it’s like a small electric shock all the way down his body. “Let’s race.”

It’s brutal but filled with the laughter that’s been missing since Clint got kidnapped. The course is a model city block that Tony had built for training purposes, and Bucky lays the rules out simply: “We race back to the beginning. You can trip each other up but try not to hurt each other.” He glares at Natasha.

She holds her palms up and says, “I didn’t do it intentionally.”

Clint glances between the two of them and then claps his hands together. “C’mon. Let’s do this.”

Bucky’s not surprised at his eagerness. Bucky recognizes that feeling of needing to get your body to do something and let your brain take the backseat. He steps up to the line and says, “Jarvis, record and count us down, please?”

There’s a hint of glee in Jarvis’s tone when he says, “As you wish, Sergeant Barnes.” And then, “On your marks, get set, go!”

Bucky goes. He has a half second of wondering if he should let Clint win, but when Clint takes that half second to kick a trashcan lid into Bucky’s knees, he gives that up and tears after him like there’s nothing weird about the circumstances. Nat is ahead of them both now, but Clint’s good at this. Bucky stays with him as he draws closer to Nat, but then Clint leaps up a chain link fence and somehow manages to get hold of a fire escape that really should’ve been out of reach. Bucky and Nat yell “That’s bullshit!” and “What the actual fuck, Barton!” at the same time and scramble through a window into the warehouse that Clint is currently scaling.

When Bucky emerges two steps behind Natasha, he manages to snag a crowbar that’s leaning against a wall and spin it into her path. She’s too good to stumble, but the dance she has to do to get out of its way gives Bucky the two steps back and they’re even again as they run down the sidewalk toward the stack of shipping crates they’ll have to scale if they’re going to catch up to Clint. Natasha goes for the trip, though, throwing her weight into the first container Bucky chose to climb and he goes tumbling into a roll while she scampers up the next one and onto the same rooftop that Barton had just leapt between with a laugh.

Bucky chases them both, but Clint takes a ridiculous leap between two buildings that makes Bucky wonder if he’s got super powers after all, and he and Nat have to find a different route again. When they finally cross the finish line, Clint’s already standing with his arms crossed and pretends to look at a watch on his wrist.

“Took you two long enough,” he says, loose and easy in a very Barton-like way, and Natasha answers with a smack on his arm.

“You’re insane with or without your memory, Barton,” Bucky growls, but he grins at Clint and offers a high-five, which Clint takes.

“Again?” Clint asks, and Bucky rolls his eyes as Natasha says, “You’re on.”

<><><><><><><><><><><><><>

It should have been enough Clint thinks as he tosses and turns some more in his bed. He’d raced Bucky and Natasha and had a blast doing it, and when Natasha beat both of them handily the last time he’d actually gotten out of breath and his legs felt a bit like Jell-O. He’d come back here and taken a long shower, eaten a bowl of cereal and some fruit, and figured he could finally sleep. He can’t. He rolls over and presses his face into his pillow and screams.

“Sir, I hate to bother you, but would you like some sounds to try and help you sleep? I could also change your room temperature if you wish.”

Clint might be falling a little in love with Jarvis. “What kinds of sounds do you mean?” he asks, and he rolls back over to stare at the ceiling.

“I can provide nature sounds, or city sounds, or anything, really. What sounds might help?” Jarvis asks.

Clint stops to think. The last time he slept, really slept easily and without care, was a long time ago. “Um, what about a field at night? Maybe a train now and then?” It was probably impossible, but it didn’t hurt to ask. A moment later, the sound of crickets, wind rushing through long grass, and a train in the distance fill his room. His breath hitches and he’s transported back to the first trailer he and Barney were allowed to sleep in at the circus, the moment they were safe again, before everything went to hell a few years later. The wind rustles again and Clint can practically taste the spring air.

He takes a deep breath and feels his muscles loosen, finally. He closes his eyes and lets the sounds wash over him. The train whistles again and his chest feels full, but he blows out a breath and lets himself relax.

He sleeps.

He wakes with a scream three hours later, and the sounds are still playing. He struggles to get his breathing under control, and he can’t help the tears that are tracking silently down his cheeks. He sits up and throws the covers off. He’s crying, pulling in heaving breaths and running his hands through his hair.

“Fuck!” he cries, and he storms into the bathroom and climbs into the shower, turning it on as hot as he can stand it. It’s not until he finally gets his breathing under control that he realizes he’s sitting in a corner fully clothed, letting the water stream down his cheeks and take the place of the tears.

He closes his eyes and thinks back to the obstacle course he ran earlier, the way that Bucky laughed at his victory and Natasha leaned into him with a warm smile after the last run. People here care about him. He’s safe.

Suddenly he’s on a rooftop in Chicago, rain pouring down and soaking him in one minute, mixing with blood seeping from his leg. He looks up at the man who is looming over him with a gun in hand and a calm voice saying, “Let me bring you in. We’ll take care of you and we have an offer for you that’s better than running again. You’ll be safe with us.”

He blinks and he’s back in his shower, the water running colder now. He stands slowly and turns off the shower. He dries off enough to wrap a towel around his waist and step back into his bedroom. He goes to the shelf of pictures and pulls one into his hands. It’s the man from the Chicago rooftop, the one with the kind eyes.

“Jarvis?”

“Yes, Agent Barton?”

“Can you let me talk to Bucky?”

A moment later and Bucky’s voice comes through. He sounds sleepy. “Hey Barton. You okay?”

Bucky’s voice makes Clint blow out a breath he was holding as he looked at the photo. “Yeah, uh, I’m sorry to bother you, but who’s this guy in my photos? The one in the sharp suit with the ice-blue eyes? I know him.”

There’s a pause, and then Bucky sounds relieved. “Yeah. Yeah you know him. I’ll see if I can get in touch with him. Steve said he was trying to arrange a meeting. He’s been asking about you, too.”

That makes Clint feel good for some reason.

The next day he’s sitting in Dr. Cho’s office letting her pump a drug into his vein, and it burns going in, but Bucky is sitting next to him and there’s something about that metal arm and those eyes and dark hair, and the way his shoulders are pressed to Clint’s that keeps him from coming out of his skin and cowering in a corner.

“We’re hoping that this helps counteract the chemicals that are lingering in your bloodstream,” Helen says. She rattles off something about the blood-brain barrier, but Clint’s distinct lack of a basic high school education catches up with him and he decides that if he’s going to trust these people he might as well go all in.

The photo of Phil Coulson has something to do with trust, Clint knows. When he looks at it, he gets a warm, safe feeling, and because he clearly can’t remember events, all he can do is trust those feelings. Weird, because he’s never really trusted his feelings before. Feelings are the only reason he hasn’t run from this place and tried to disappear.

Bucky even asked him about it yesterday. “You’re pissed, but you’re not running,” he’d said. “Why?”

Clint shrugged and said with a grin, “I get the feeling that you and Natasha could track me down quicker than I could buy a bus ticket, and this place feels right.”

Bucky seemed satisfied with his answer.

Now he he’s agreed to hop on a jet and go visit Phil Coulson, hoping to get some of those fleeting memories like was getting with Natasha and that he got in the shower, although he wishes they would come more quickly than they are. He’s visiting a man from a picture, in the hopes that more flashes of memory will show up. He’s on the jet, and getting closer to seeing Phil Coulson in person, and he’s not nervous. That’s gotta count for something.

“You like the jet?” Bucky asks, sitting down next to him in the cargo area.

“Yeah,” Clint answers. “It’s pretty cool.” He’s lying, of course. It’s not ‘pretty cool, it’s amazing and he feels excitement thrumming through his veins.

“If you wanna go sit up front with Natasha, you can. I just piss her off when I sit copilot.”

Clint cocks his head. “Yeah? Why?”

“’Cause I fly better,” Bucky replies, and he’s got a smug smile that Clint can’t figure out what to do with. He thinks maybe Bucky’s smile is the prettiest smile he’s ever seen.

He sits down in the copilot’s seat and looks carefully at the control panel. Suddenly he’s dizzy with relief for some reason, and he blinks hard to shake the dizziness off.

“Barton, you okay?” Natasha asks.

He nods. He’s okay. The relief swells over him, a feeling of familiarity and clear knowledge that floods his brain and warms his chest. His hands fly to the controls automatically, brushing over them like they’re buzzing with static.

He grins. “I know this,” he says, and repeats, “I know this.”

She smiles back, her eyes lit with joy. “Yeah, I bet you do.” She flips a couple switches. “It’s yours.”

He swallows a “Holy shit are you serious?” question and focuses on the panel in front of him, flipping the necessary switches and settling the plane into its proper course. The plane feels like his and he feels like he’s home, like nothing can knock him out of the sky.

“You’ve got it, Clint,” Natasha says, and her voice is filled with contentment.

When he glances over at her, she’s got her eyes closed and feet up, like she trusts him or something, and he’s not exactly sure what to do with that, so he just flies.

When they’d said they were meeting up with Coulson on his bus, they were clearly pulling Clint’s leg. This is not a bus. It’s a thing of beauty, he thinks as Bucky leads him up the ramp of the flying base Coulson is, apparently, in charge of. He looks around the hangar and stops when he sees a red car that competes with the plane in terms of most gorgeous. He can’t help drifting over to it, running a hand above its hood like he can feel its pulse without touching it.

“Lola,” he says, and Natasha and Bucky stop dead in their tracks.

“Well shit,” Bucky says. “I’m probably gonna lose both bets on this trip.”

Clint looks over at him and he shrugs. “I said nothing was gonna jar your memory – Nat said the quinjet and Coulson would do it.”

“He helped me pick it out,” a voice calls from the walkway above the hangar, and Clint looks up at the smooth voice. The man it belongs to is casually leaning on the walkway railing, a smile and his blue eyes flashing.

Clint sucks in a sharp breath and his heart jerks unexpectedly. That smooth voice and the smile press against a memory of fear and anger swirling to the surface and it blindsides him like he’s run into a brick wall. He can’t breathe but he’s trying, sucking in what air he can get down his constricted throat. It’s not working. Spots dance in front of his eyes and nausea swirls in his belly, and Bucky’s at his side. He pushes Clint to the ground and holds him between both his hands, his metal one on Clint’s chest and his flesh hand on Clint’s back, like he can hold the air in for him.

“Fuck, Clint. Breathe. Just breathe slowly, with me,” Bucky says, counting one-two-three-four.

Clint tries to follow, but it hurts, and he feels so sick, and he blinks and he sees someone with an eye patch standing in front of him saying, “Coulson was killed,” then Natasha saying, “Phil died,” then Steve saying, “I’m so sorry, Clint.”

It’s Bucky who’s in front of him now, though, and he follows Bucky’s voice and breathes on his count and finally the spots leave, and he can breathe again. His limbs feel boneless and there’s sweat dripping down his cheek when he blinks hard and leans into Bucky’s shoulder. “Oh, fuck,” he whispers.

Bucky shifts and Clint’s breathing picks up again, “Bucky,” he groans, “Wait.”

Now Bucky runs his flesh hand up and down Clint’s arm in a steady rhythm. “I ain’t going anywhere, Clint. You’re safe.”

And it’s the guarantee in his voice that makes the tears leap from Clint’s eyes, and he draws a shuddering breath he can’t steady. He hears Natasha say, “Phil,” and he looks up to see a face that he figures he knows as well as the quinjet and eyes filled with worry, and Phil crouches down in front of him and looks between Bucky and Clint. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You died,” is all Clint can manage, and the tears dampen his shirt collar and he holds a little tighter to Bucky’s arm.

Phil closes his eyes and Natasha mutters, “Shit. Of course that’s what comes back to you.”

Next to him, Bucky sighs and holds Clint a little tighter. “He’s okay, Clint. He died, and they saved him_,_ but you haven’t seen him much since that happened. There’s more to him than a pretty car and reincarnation.”

“Thanks, Barnes,” Phil says, and his voice is like a floodgate.

Clint clenches his eyes shut against the onslaught of memory. He can’t stop shaking, any more than he can stop visions of safe-houses, mission vans, and dinners with Natasha and someone called Jasper and nights at an office building on a couch in front of a dingy old television. He sees Phil in the same suit he’s wearing now and he sees him in combat gear and he sees him in jeans and a Henley and he’s going to shake out of his skin, and Bucky seems to know it.

“Leave us alone, just for a bit, okay?” he says, and Clint doesn’t hear an answer, but when he pries his eyes open a few minutes later he and Bucky are alone on the cold floor of the hangar. Bucky’s pulled him into his lap and is running his hand up and down Clint’s back. “I got you, Barton,” he murmurs, and adds, “You’re gonna be okay. This is good. This is good.”

All he can manage is honesty, so Clint mumbles, “I’m really tired, Bucky.”

He feels Bucky sigh. “I know you are. Let’s go see if there’s a bunk you can crash in,” and he pushes Clint to his feet. Clint leans so heavily on Bucky that Bucky’s practically dragging him down a hallway to an elevator and down another hallway through an open door and into a room with a wide cot in it. He helps Clint lay down and pulls his shoes off for him and Clint’s eyes are drifting shut. When he startles awake a few seconds later Bucky frowns and pushes him back down again. “Come on, Clint. Let yourself sleep. I’ll keep watch,” and something in Clint’s brain gives up on the vigilance and lets him close his eyes and sleep.

He finally sleeps for more than a few hours.

“I’m sorry, Clint,” Coulson says the next morning, and Clint shifts in the leather chair in front of Coulson’s desk, looking anywhere but at the man’s face. There are knickknacks on the desk, including a scrambled Rubik’s Cube that Clint can’t help but pick up and start to twist. Coulson laughs at that and Clint can’t help looking up at him with a tired smile. 

“I remember fiddling with this in your office back in SHIELD,” he says, and Phil nods.

“I bought it so you’d have something to do with your hands during meetings.”

Clint sighs. “I remember you. I remember more about you than anyone.”

“We were close friends,” Phil replies, and the warmth in his voice startles Clint.

“But we’re not now?” he asks, and Phil pauses, a thoughtful look on his face. “I mean, it’s like I can’t remember the links,” Clint adds. “I remember you. I remember things I’ve done with you. But I don’t remember what happened in between those things, or why you’re here and not with Natasha and I anymore.”

“It just worked out this way,” Phil answers. “You both joined the Avengers, SHIELD needed me out here. We’re still close friends. Natasha called me every day you were missing, and I had my people working on it, too. I’ve been worried sick about you.”

“This place doesn’t feel right,” Clint says. “Not like the Tower or the jet.”

“No, I don’t suppose it would. You haven’t spent much time here.”

They sit quietly for a moment, and that’s the other reason Clint doesn’t run. All of these people feel comfortable to him. Sitting here in silence isn’t any big deal. He gives Phil a smile that’s returned right away. “I keep getting memories. You once dared me to eat this spicy Indian dish when we were on assignment. You laughed your ass off when I did it and ended up crying.”

Phil laughs, and shakes his head. “Okay, first of all that was Jasper who dared you, and second of all, I’m also the one who got you the glass of milk to help with the spice. Jasper and Natasha just laughed at your suffering.”

Clint smiles and they do this a while longer, sharing memories and laughing, and after the sleep he got and knowing Bucky’s just down the hall, Clint feels better than he has since he woke up in that HYDRA cell.


	3. Resolution(s)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint is getting a lot back and he and Bucky are finding something new.

Bucky didn’t know how close Clint and Coulson must have been. He’d met the guy once before, but that was early in Bucky’s own rehabilitation and he hadn’t been noticing much.Sometimes Clint would be texting in a meeting and when Steve yelled at him, he’d protest that he was texting Coulson so it should be allowed. But Bucky never put it together that they’d be close enough for seeing him again to be a watershed in his recovery.

“You’re making a mess, Barnes,” Natasha says, sitting down next to him in the small kitchen area on the bus.

He looks down at the pile of napkins he’s shredded in the last fifteen minutes, and then over at Clint and Coulson sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on a couch in the living area nearby. “It’s art,” he says, and pointedly rips another napkin into pieces, glaring at her as he does it.

“They’re good friends,” Natasha says. “Phil pulled Clint out of a dark time of his life. Clint helped Phil see the world a new way.”

Bucky shrugs. “Seeing him seems to be helping.”

She nods. “We’ll have to head back this afternoon, though. Phil’s team has a mission that came up last night.”

The relief he feels is embarrassing. He stands up and swipes the pile of shreds into a trash can and rolls his shoulders. “I’m going for a walk,” he says, and heads toward the hangar where they came in yesterday. The view from the ramp outside is good, so he sits down and dangles his feet from the edge of the ramp.

“Bucky?” Clint calls, and it’s weird how his body responds to Clint’s voice. The analytical him from his Winter Soldier days tracks the way his heart rate picks up speed, how he sits up a little straighter, how he swallows, ready to talk. It wasn’t like this before.

He remembers girls before the war, girls he had no trouble talking to, taking interest in, showing a good time. He remembers laughter, hands clasped, kisses in the dark of a theater with one dark-haired girl in particular and the smell of popcorn in the air, though he doesn’t remember her name. He remembers boys, too, but that was hidden, glances stolen, kisses behind boxes at the warehouse job he had one fall, not much more than that until the war, where it was actually easier to find warmth and intimacy in the chaos between battles.

Now, though, after HYDRA and finding Steve and getting to know Natasha again, it’s not even something he’s considered. Clint has always had his attention, even before this shit show, but not like this. He did a double take the first time he met him, surprised by his quick grin and gravelly voice. He hasn’t reacted like this, though, and it catches him off guard.

Relief floods his body, relief that Clint’s here, that he’s seeking Bucky out, even after reconnecting with Phil. His voice is like a balm to Bucky’s jittery nerves, and when he sits himself down next to Bucky and leans into his shoulder like it’s an everyday thing, something in Bucky settles.

“Hey,” Bucky replies, and he looks over at Clint. “You look rested.”

Clint looks out into the distance. “Yeah. Slept better and had some breakfast. I guess we’re heading back to the Tower today. Phil’s team is leaving.”

Bucky looks over at him. “You okay with heading back?”

Clint doesn’t answer right away, and he looks down at his hands. “I guess so. Connecting with Phil feels good, and the memories seem to be coming back even more now, even though remembering some of my crap isn’t the best because apparently I’m an idiot as an adult, too,” he says with a chuckle.

“I could tell you about the chicken incident in Idaho if you need further proof,” Bucky says.

Clint looks sharply at him and then laughs. “Yeah. I don’t think that’s necessary.” After a beat, he asks, “I was wondering why you don’t figure in to my memories, though. Phil says you’ve been with the team almost a year and a half now. I remembered the incident with Tony and Steve and the laundromat, and a few other moments that seem recent, but you’re not there. Were we even friends?”

Bucky looks away. All the months hiding in his rooms, sparring only with Steve or Nat, avoiding team dinners like the plague, making food for them and then disappearing, assuming no one would really want a reformed HYDRA agent around much seem kind of stupid now.“I showed up to the team late, and my past, it kind of,” he breaks off, and the words won’t come.

“My past feels like yesterday,” Clint says, and his voice drops, is a little shaky. “You guys asked where I was before I woke up in that cage. What I was doing.” He takes a deep breath.

“Clint,” Bucky starts.

“I killed a kid younger than me. I did it just a week before I woke up in a HYDRA cell. Some guy offered me money, I was hungry, and he said the kid was gonna do something bad. He didn’t tell me what it was, and I didn’t ask. I’ve killed a few other people, too, like a hit man or something. I knew they were bad news, though. This kid, he was,” Clint stopped and sucked in a sharp breath. “He wasn’t even twenty. I don’t really know if he was a bad person, but I was so hungry, and I hadn’t slept inside in a month.”

Bucky sees anguish written all over Clint’s face, and his voice - it’s like he’s pushing the words out through cement or something. His hands are shaking and he leans away from Bucky.

“I’m just saying, you have a past and I have a past, but that shouldn’t stop us from being…” He stops. Looks over at Bucky with a shy grin, and says, “Something.”

Bucky can’t help his laugh. The amount of uncertainty between them could fill the Grand Canyon right now, and that feels wrong. So, he leans in, keeps his eyes locked on Clint’s, and Clint meets him, their lips brushing, and then Bucky presses into Clint, and puts his hand on Clint’s cheek to feel the warmth that he’s been craving for days. It’s like sunshine.

When they pull back, they’re both grinning. Bucky presses his forehead to Clint’s. “I’ve been letting my past get in the way of things because it seems . . . my past is pretty full of shit, Clint.”

Clint nods. “Yeah. I wondered why HYDRA would want me, but with my shitty past and good aim it’s pretty easy to figure out. I heard you didn’t have much choice in what you did, though. It took me two days to decide to take that job to kill that kid. If you can look at me and see someone who deserves a second chance, well. I know you deserve it. You didn’t choose those things. I know it.”

Tears spring to Bucky’s eyes unbidden, and he has to look away. He’d heard Steve say those words, but Steve was hoping to use them and get a bit more of Bucky from Brooklyn back. He’d heard Nat say those words, but she was thinking of someone who had given her a kindness in the cold of the Red Room. Clint was taking Bucky here, now, and wasn’t hoping for anyone who he’d been before.

“Bucky, look at me,” Clint whispers.

He looks.

“You deserve a second chance. And if Phil and Nat and you are to be believed, then maybe I do, too.” He leans in and brushes his lips across Bucky’s and the sunshine comes back. “Wanna try our second chance together, maybe?”

Bucky blinks the tears away. He leans into the kiss and deepens it, pulling Clint even closer, like the closer their bodies are the less chance of doubt sneaking in. He lets himself nip Clint’s bottom lip and then he pulls back, and Clint reaches up and brushes a tear from Bucky’s cheek. “Together sounds good to me,” Bucky says. He looks around the hangar and then back at Clint. “Wanna blow this popsicle stand and head home?”

Clint takes a deep breath and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go home.”

<><><><><><>

Natasha watches Bucky and Clint lean into kiss each other and she turns away. She’ll give them this moment. When she wanders back into the kitchen area, Phil is leaning against the refrigerator, watching her in that careful way she misses.

“Come to my office and have some of my secret stash of tea?” He asks with a soft smile.

She nods. “We’re leaving as soon as Barton and Barnes finish making out in the hangar, but that should be time for tea,” she says, and enjoys watching Phil blink and try to stay in control.

He fails and bursts out laughing. “Well, that was kind of inevitable, wasn’t it?”

She’s glad to hear him say it. She follows him back to his office and agrees. “It really was, even if HYDRA hadn’t gotten hold of Clint. I had my money on a date by Christmas. Timetable’s probably moved up, but it’s no surprise.”

Phil nods and sets to making tea. Natasha looks around his office, picking up knickknacks and putting them back down with a smile. She finds a picture of the three of them, muddy and grinning, and brushes her hand across the frame.

“A lot has changed,” Phil says, looking at the photo in her hands.

“Mostly good,” she answers, meeting his eyes. “We miss you, but we’re all doing good things.”

He nods and hands her a cup of tea. “I have some of those British biscuits you like,” he says, pulling a packet out of a desk drawer.

She laughs and he shakes a few out into her hand.

“He’s going to be okay,” she says, and Phil has trouble meeting her gaze.

“Sometimes I do feel like I’ve abandoned you both.”

She smiles and sips the tea. It’s good, since Phil learned to make it properly from her. “We learned how to make it on our own eventually.”

“I miss you, though,” he admits, and she can’t help her raised eyebrow. It’s more emotion than he usually allows about them.

She just nods, and they drink their tea in companionable silence.

An hour later and Clint is giving Phil a bear hug that she figures ought to last Phil awhile, and they’re back on the jet, with Clint at the controls.

Bucky’s sitting in the back, cleaning his knife set that he apparently keeps on the jet.

Clint steals a glance back at him and Natasha can’t help herself. “His mouth is safe,” she says with a grin.

He glares, but he can’t hold it, and he drops his head and laughs. “Fuck, we weren’t careful.”

“Don’t need to be, Barton. We’re all friends. I did lose a bet, though.”

He does glare this time.

“Relax. We bet on practically everything back at the Tower. Bucky won twenty bucks off of Bruce one time because Tony broke a test tube. Keeps us going.”

Clint stares straight ahead. “Is everyone rich there?”

She sighs and answers his actual question. “SHIELD paid you and I very well and we never spent much. Being Avengers is also pretty good for us. We get some marketing money and we don’t have basic bills. We also risk our lives every time we get called out, so…”

They’re quiet for a moment. “I remember making you breakfast for your birthday,” he says, and smiles at her.

It’s him, but it’s not, and she feels like she’s on uneven ground. He’s getting the memories, but he’s cautious about it, like he’s not sure of himself, or them. He’s reciting memories, but he’s not comfortable in them, and that bothers her more than she expected.She stays quiet and they fly in silence, the sound of Bucky’s sharpening carrying through the cabin.

Clint’s more rested when they get back, and Natasha meets Steve and Bruce and Tony for dinner to catch them up. She gives Steve the thirty dollars she owes him over the kiss and Tony laughs for ten minutes. The next morning, Clint knocks on her door. “Wanna spar?” he asks with a grin.

“Where’s Bucky?” she asks.

“He says he wants to watch us spar again.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fine. Gimme ten minutes.”

Bucky is on a treadmill when she shows up, and Clint is stretching in the ring.

Bucky whistles at her when she climbs into the ring and she flips him off before tying her hair up in a ponytail. Clint is wearing a purple t-shirt, grey shorts, and is barefoot. Bucky pulls his phone out and one minute later Steve rushes into the gym.

“Did I miss it?” he says, skidding to a halt at the edge of the ring.

“Sheesh, Steve,” Bucky says, slapping him on the shoulder. “They haven’t started yet.”

“Oh, good,” he says, and leans against the ring.

Clint looks between Bucky and Steve with a raised eyebrow.

“You guys usually put on a good show when you spar,” Bucky says with a shrug.

Natasha claps. “Ready?” and the quick grin Clint shoots her warms her to hew toes.

She starts by letting him lead. She doesn’t know how much he remembers of doing this, and she has a flash of their early sparring matches at SHIELD, when he knew hardly anything without the element of surprise or the distance of his bow. He swipes her legs, though, and gets a good jump on her. She can see some things clicking back into place, and she ramps it up a notch or two.

Bucky and Steve cheer at first, but they stop as they get caught up in watching, so the gym is silent except for the slap of skin on skin or skin on the mat. Finally, Natasha pins him with her legs, and is hovering above him when it happens.

He sucks in a sharp breath, blinks as he stares at her instead of fighting back, and a look of pure horror settles into his eyes. His breathing ratchets up and he goes limp in her grip.

“Clint?” she says and releases him immediately, and he scrambles backward against the ropes so hard she has to grab his ankle to keep him from tumbling out of the ring. “Clint!” she snaps, and he’s trying to get away, like she’s really going to hurt him or something.

She pins his arms to the ground and he’s sucking labored breaths and he whispers, “Loki,” and as she watches, tears spring to his eyes and he adds, “I killed so many for him,” and he goes limp under her arms and clenches his eyes shut. “I killed so many people,”

Bucky is there at her side, and he leans over and presses his hand to Clint’s cheek. “It wasn’t you. He had control.”

Clint flinches at the sound of Bucky’s voice and opens his eyes, darting between the two of them. Her heart breaks again, like when they were in that medical room before Steve stepped in to tell them about the Chitauri, and she has to do it again. “Monsters and magic, Clint. It wasn’t your fault. It was a long time ago now, and –“

He pushes up, and gets to his feet in an instant, and his chest is heaving and he’s pale.

“Clint,” she says, but he just swallows and looks at Bucky.

“You knew what I did? To my own people? My colleagues and friends? You knew this on top of everything else and you still wanted me?” And he sounds like he’s accusing Bucky of a crime, and her stomach sinks. When he climbs out of the ring and looks at them like they’ve killed someone, she, for the first time since she met Clint Barton, doesn’t know how to help him.

He runs from the room at full tilt, slamming the door behind him, and she and Bucky and Steve are left standing. Sweat is running down her face and Steve says, “Well fuck. Maybe we should have mentioned that one before.”

Bucky scrubs his face with his flesh hand and takes a deep breath. “I’ve got this,” he mutters, and follows Clint out of the gym.

She looks at Steve and he sighs. “Well, after this he should be through the really big ones, right?” He asks.

She climbs down and leans into him. “More liquor and ice cream, please?”

<><><><><>

“Jarvis, Where did he go?” Bucky asks as he pushes the door to the gym open.

“I’m sorry, Sergeant Barnes, but privacy protocols prevent me from divulging that information.”

Bucky stops at the elevator. “Dammit, Jarvis,” he mutters, “Call me Bucky.” He stares at the ceiling like if he looks hard enough he could see the machine staring at him with a downturned mouth. He takes a deep breath. Where would this Clint go? It takes only a moment, and he steps into the elevator and presses a button.

The obstacle course is barely lit, and Bucky finds him curled into a ball in one of the corners near a chain link fence. He’s pulling on his hair and rocking back and forth like a little kid. When Bucky steps loud enough to hear, he startles backward, scrambling to his feet.

“Hey, settle, Clint. It’s just me.”

“Fuck off, Bucky,” Clint growls, and okay, that hurts a little bit.

Bucky crosses his arms and ducks his chin. “Not gonna,” says with a petulant glare.

“I need – “ Clint starts, and then stops and pulls on his hair again. “Why am I here?” His voice is laced with a sadness Bucky’s never heard from him before, and the question is unexpected.

“What?” is all he can manage.

Clint glares at him. “Why. Am. I. Here? I killed my own people, I was a killer for hire through my early twenties, and no one in their right mind would want someone like me around, much less for dating.”

‘You said we deserved a second chance,” Bucky answers. “I think Phil Coulson gave you a second chance sixteen years ago, and Steve and the others gave me a second chance last year.”

“My second chance came _before_ Loki,” Clint replies. “How can anyone look at me – why is this happening?”

Clint’s mind is clearly all over the place at the moment, so Bucky steps a little closer. “Why is what happening? This conversation?”

“This! HYDRA fucked with my brain and now all I get is a flood of all the shit I’ve done in my life, but you’re standing here telling me I’m okay and deserve a second chance. If I dumped every single shitty thing you’ve done into a pile in front of you right now would you be fine with walking away and going about as if nothing happened?”

Bucky winces. “If you dumped every shitty thing I’ve done into a pile it would fill this room, Clint,” he says.

“Then maybe this room is full up,” Clint mutters, and he storms past Bucky and out of the room. Again.

“Fuck,” Bucky says to no one. He takes a deep breath and follows Clint out of the room, but he’s disappeared. Bucky decides to leave him be for a bit and heads to the common room kitchen. When he finds Nat and Steve scooping ice cream into a blender, he slides up to the counter and puts his head down.

“Bucky?” Steve says, “Where’s Clint?”

“I think he needs to be alone at the moment,” Bucky replies without lifting his head. After a moment, he feels Steve’s strong hands rubbing his shoulders and digging in. He blows out a breath and relaxes into it. Steve’s hands are magic, and he finds the knots and works them out as Natasha dumps Irish Cream liquor into the blender along with the ice cream and milk.

“He doesn’t have the context,” Steve says quietly, and Bucky raises his head to stare.

“What?”

Natasha sets three glasses on the counter and fills them with boozy milkshakes.

Steve shrugs. “He’s getting memories without context. He remembers what Loki did but he doesn’t remember what he did in the Chitauri battle or how Loki got to him. He remembers killing people for hire but doesn’t remember all the time SHIELD took to teach him new ways to be and become a better man. He doesn’t have the context, like when you first started remembering.”

“Rogers gets the smartypants points today,” Natasha says, handing Steve a glass.

Bucky takes a long swig of the sweet concoction and enjoys the sweet burn of the liquor. “Don’t happen very often, Stevie. Better enjoy it.”

That earns him a light slap on the back of his head.

“If I may interrupt,” JARVIS says, and Bucky sits up straight. ‘My protocols do not let me identify where Agent Barton is, but I can tell you where he is not.”

Bucky doesn’t like the sound of that.

“Where is he not, JARVIS,” Natasha asks.

“In the building.”

Bucky’s stomach drops. “He left?” Bucky turns to Steve. “I thought you prohibited him from leaving!”

“I didn’t want him to leave,” Steve says, holding his hands up. “I never officially set JARVIS up to prevent it, though.”

Bucky closes his eyes and then takes another drink of the milkshake.

“Buck?” Steve asks.

“What?”

“You gonna go get him?”

Natasha is just watching and drinking her milkshake through a straw.

“JARVIS, how long ago did he leave?

“He has been outside the building for eight minutes and forty seconds.”

“I’ll go when I’ve finished my drink.” Clint had said he wasn’t running because he figured Bucky and Natasha could find him. He wasn’t wrong. Bucky has three ideas of where he is and Natasha probably has five. “He’s probably wandering Central Park. We’ll give him a bit to decompress,” Bucky says, cracking his knuckles and tilting his glass for the last of the ice cream. “You coming along?” he asks Natasha.

“Yeah,” she says. Lemme go get some shoes.”

“Wait,” Steve says. “Gear?” he asks, kind of like he’s afraid to.

“Got what I need,” Natasha says.

“Same,” Bucky says. He shrugs at Steve’s frown. “Won’t need much, I don’t think. I’ll call you when we find him.”

Steve sighs. “Gottit.”

As they make their way through the lobby, Bucky’s phone pings. It’s a text from Tony. “Tony says that Stark security cams on this block have him heading north. Traffic cams lose him around 20th,” he tells Natasha.

They pick up their pace. Once they hit 20th, they split up and do three block sweeps. It’s Bucky who finds him. He skids to a halt at the sight down the garbage-strewn alley. Clint’s fighting a guy twice his size, swinging to hit, but Bucky can tell he’s holding back, letting the guy get hits in and stay close. The guy is swearing loudly at Clint, who doesn’t answer, just ducks in and hits him again, earning a knee in the ribs and a fist to the temple. Clint stumbles and Bucky can see blood streaming down his face and soaking his shirt collar, and he blinks as the guy gets another fist to Clint’s head. He goes down and Bucky sucks in a sharp breath and steps in.

He’s got the guy, a towering bearded redhead with tattoos covering his neck, pressed against the brick wall in less than five seconds. He pulls his favorite knife and presses it to the guy’s throat. “Get out.”

Fear flashes in the guy’s eyes and he nods frantically. Bucky lets him go and turns to Clint once he’s gone. He texts Natasha their location and kneels down. Clint’s trying to push himself up, but he let the guy beat him pretty close to pulp. His arms are rubbery, and Bucky pulls him into his lap.

“What the hell, Clint. Look at me.”

Clint swallows thickly and blinks at Bucky, but his eyes slide away and he squirms and pulls something from his pocket. “Got ‘is wallet,” he mumbles, but the wallet slips out of his hand and falls to the ground.

Bucky frowns. “You also got your ass kicked. Come on. We need to get you home.”

“Fuck off, Bucky,” Clint replies, but Bucky pulls him to his feet anyway, and keeps a hand on his elbow. It’s a good thing, too, because Clint’s knees buckle as soon as he’s up.

Natasha rounds the corner of the alley at the moment and she stops and pinches the bridge of her nose for a moment. “How bad?” she calls and pulls her phone out to send a text.

“His knees aren’t working, he picked a fight with a guy twice his size and stole the guy’s wallet,” Bucky reports. “He’s probably concussed.”

“Lemme go, asshole. I’m not goin’ back there,” Clint growls, and he yanks his arm from Bucky.

He’s on the ground before Bucky can catch him.

Natasha kneels down and helps Clint struggle back to sitting. “Listen,” she says. “Even if we wanted to let you have your idiotic way here, we can’t. You’re an Avenger, not just some moron who can go try and have his old life back. If you’re out in the open much longer and someone catches wind of it, you’ll be back in that HYDRA lab before you can blink. So get up and climb into Tony’s car and let us take you home.”

Bucky reaches down and pulls Clint up again, this time throwing his shoulder under Clint’s arm to keep him on his feet. “Not gonna let you have your way anyway,” Bucky mutters, and Clint tries to glare, but his eyes flutter and Bucky groans. “Fuck you, Barton,” he says as Clint passes out cold and Bucky has to scoop him up to carry him over to the car Tony’s pulled to the curb.

“Out making good choices again, I see,” Tony says as they climb in.

“This fucking idiot,” Bucky replies. “Get us home and have Helen meet us in his room?”

“On it,” Tony answers, and if Bucky brushes Clint’s bloody hair out of his face and leaves his hand on his cheek to make sure he’s still warm, well. He can’t help it.

<><><><><><>

Clint wakes slowly, to the sound of a ballgame on the television and someone talking in low tones. His head is pounding and when he tries to move a little his ribs protest and he can’t help the groan.

“Hey,” he hears, and it’s Bucky keeping his voice down. “Stay still. Dr. Cho is on her way to make sure you’re okay.”

He relaxes and tries to remember what happened. He opens his eyes and Bucky is on the floor right next to him, and Natasha is curled up in an armchair nearby, watching him carefully. It comes back to him, the alley and the stench of garbage and the big redhead and his meaty fist. 

“You still feeling sick?” Bucky asks.

Clint shakes his head before he thinks, and he has to close his eyes against the way the room spins. “Not sick. Head hurts.”

“Yeah,” Bucky answers, and Clint feels his warm hand brushing his arm gently. “You let him get a couple good hits in.”

There’s definitely an unspoken ‘moron’ at the end of the sentence, but Bucky has the grace not to say it out loud. Clint suddenly remembers lifting the guy’s wallet and watching him realize it. “I took his wallet,” he says, and shame seeps into his voice, unbidden.

“I tracked him down and one of Tony’s people is returning it. He’s agreed not to press charges,” Natasha says, and there’s another unspoken ‘moron’ tacked on.

He’s screwed up this time, that’s for sure. He closes his eyes and waits for Dr. Cho. She clearly comes straight from her lab, because she’s still wearing her lab coat.

“Slight concussion and his ribs are bruised but not cracked. Ibuprofen and rest. Oh, and fluids. Plenty of fluids.” Helen steps back and brushes her hair out of her eyes, and adds with a raised eyebrow, “And maybe a visit to a psychiatrist would be good.”

Clint blinks and a tall, dark-haired man with hollow cheeks and a lab coat floods his memory. He’s got a clipboard and he’s adjusting electrodes pressed to Clint’s temple. He’s talking about memory and how well Clint’s doing and how he’s going to be a good HYDRA soldier once this is all done, and now Clint’s not sure if he’s not gonna be sick after all.

“Fuck, that’s a memory,” Bucky mutters, and Dr. Cho excuses herself with a quick apology.

Bucky’s at his side and brushing his hand through Clint’s hair. “Open your eyes, Clint. Look. You’re safe in the tower, come on.”

Clint swallows thickly and does as he’s told. Bucky’s worried eyes are startlingly blue, and his hand is warm against his cheek. Clint reaches up to grasp Bucky’s hand in his and he nods. When he blinks, the cold white of the lab and the lights of machines flash against his eyelids. He sucks in a shaky breath, and then another. “I fucking hate HYDRA” he whispers.

“They’re not here,” Bucky replies. “I’m here, and you’re safe from everything.”

Clint gets his breathing under control as Bucky keeps brushing his hand through Clint’s hair, and his heartbeat slows as the memories fade away. He reaches up to pull Bucky’s hand to his chest but Nat hands Bucky a mug with steam rising from it.

“It’ll hurt to sit up, so let him help you. It’s your favorite,” she says, and Clint marvels at this place where people are trying to take care of him because they like him, not because they have to or anything. He sips the tea Bucky holds for him and it warms him down to his toes.

He looks up and nods. “This is good,” he says. “it’s like you know me or something.” He gives her a tired smile, and then he frowns. “I’m sorry I ran,” he says, meeting Bucky’s gaze. “I can’t figure out why you want anything to do with me.”

“I killed Tony’s parents,” Bucky says with a shrug, and okay. That’s a bad one. “Might not have had a choice, but I did it, and he forgave me for it.”

“I think I was in on the Kennedy assassination,” Natasha says, and wow.

He looks at them both and then closes his eyes. All of those people he knew, though. He feels Bucky brush a hand through his hair, though, and when he looks up they’re both still there, ready to support him and like him and let him fight with them. “I hope I remember something good, next,” he says with a shrug, and Bucky laughs.

Natasha grins. “Yeah. We’ve got you until you get it all back.”

“You think I will?”

She says something in Russian, and he can’t help but laugh. “Ow, fuck! My ribs aren’t busted but, dammit.”

“See?” She says, and heads for the doorway. “Get some rest. Bucky’s got you from here. I’m going to have more boozy ice cream with Steve.”

“Don’t eat all the mint chocolate chip,” Bucky mutters.

“Ewww,” Clint says, and Bucky pulls the tea away.

“Take that back or I’m not letting you have any more of this tea.”

“I’m hurt, Buck, lemme have the tea.”

Bucky scowls, but he holds the tea close for another sip. “You probably like somethin’ like that Rocky Road shit Steve tried to feed me when we were kids.”

Clint’s brain tries to process this history of ice cream lesson, but it stutters on “But Rocky Road has marshmallows in it. It’s delicious.”

“Drink your tea, Barton. You need sleep, not ice cream.”

So he drinks. And he sleeps, and when he wakes up, Bucky is sprawled on top of the covers next to him, so he stays still and watches him sleep. He searches the tenuous memories that are slowly seeping back to him for moments like this in his past: this trust, this warm adoration that fills Clint’s chest, but he can’t find it. He has a sneaking suspicion that this one thing, Bucky and him, that it’s new for both of them.

And that’s good. He throws an arm over Bucky’s waist and pulls him close, and he buries his face in Bucky’s chest as Bucky wakes enough to pull Clint in for a slow kiss. His past is coming back to him in painful pieces, but this just might be his future, and it feels pretty damned good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading my story here. I set out wanting to play with the amnesia trope. I had fun along the way, and I hope you did, too! You can find me on Tumblr at westgateoh if you'd like a bunch of eclectic things featuring Marvel and a few other kinds of media, and cats. Many cats. Thanks again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to jmatheison for such an encouraging cheerleading read-through of the initial chapter. It was immensely helpful!


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